Welcome to Gaia! ::

Hmmm, interesting way to start off. I have to say that your main character definitely caught my attention right off the bat, and vaguely reminds me of the character Hannibal (intellect and smooth wise)

But something that confused me:

A warm southern swept upriver and stroked his face.

Southern what? breeze?

I also like the interaction between the two men.

No problem 3nodding Now that I corrected you I'm paranoid that my prologue is going to have something I missed xd *slinks off to check in the forum*

Thanks, Reinna. That's one of the passages that I was afraid got a bit too purple. I feel pretty dumb now, since I never even considered what sort of tone I was attempting here. It makes sense that there are anomalies like that. >.< I'll go through and look for parts that don't seem to fit.

But yay! The Old Bank comes off as seedy! I'm rather glad about that.

And 'slid' is a better verb, yes. Thanks.

A/N: Yay, more. Now, I know that this section just doesn't work as well as the first bit did. I'm not quite sure what specifically is clunky-- I'm not objective enough about my work, at this point-- so I'd appreciate it if anyone would point out awkward patches and so on. How's the dialogue going? What sort of impression are the characters giving? Is the narrator getting too editorial? A lot of the time the narration follows Connieal closely, to the point of including his thoughts, but I'm not sure how well it works...

Thanks to everyone who's helped so far!

Upon inheriting a small fortune and a good-sized house from a corrupt and ancient uncle, most people would be content to settle down to a life of good cigars, hunting dogs, and evenings in front of a warm fire. It didn’t work for Connieal, but not because he hadn’t tried. Cigars made him sneeze, he didn’t like the idea of hunting things that couldn’t fight back, and too much time in a warm, quiet room tended to make him twitch.

Instead, he set out seeking what few people can find in a cold, industrial city at the edge of the civilized world-- adventure.

He had been on the roofs of the steelworks and in the flooded depths of the old salt mines. He’d met the Spookshadow, Norm the Goose, Angakok the Poisoner, and an old woman who might’ve even been the Witch of the Iron Hills. He had learned to laugh at death and disease and abandonment, even after his mother faded away and his best friend ran off to Tonvaldt.

He’d done it all with incredible charm, coolness, and poise.
He told himself this as he rowed closer to Adage’s Isle, and he gritted his teeth.

He’d withstood it. Granted, at the time he had been terrified or heartbroken or halfway out of his mind, but he still lived to tell the stories.

So why, after all this, did merely crashing a party seem so daring?

It wasn’t even like Thomas Connieal was the one who would be attending. If anyone insisted on knowing his name-- which, as everyone knew, was extremely poor form at a masque--, he planned to be Basil Riddick.

Riddick had existed for the best part of two years. Once a week, Riddick wrote an editorial for the Blue Pocket Investigator and sent it over to Raven’s Street by courier. He attacked the decadence of the rich, the shame and filth of the Tribbit Stream slums, the belligerence of the Resionian war-mongers and God’s Artisans alike. The public lapped it up like a house cat lapping up cream, and mewed for more.

No one really knew that Basil Riddick didn’t really exist, not in the sense that the Overmayor or Hanged Harry the Slasher existed. He didn’t eat or drink or go for evening rambles along Water Street like real people did-- just like how Sam Loggan really didn’t live in Harbor Town or have a fiancé named Susan or any of that nonsense. It was simply this: when Thomas Connieal happened to don a certain suit of clothes and mannerisms-- a tasteless red velvet waistcoat, a pair of those fashionable pointed boots, a certain sneer, a few particular turns of phrase-- Riddick breathed.

One identity wasn’t nearly enough for someone who had spent years living in a play-house. (AN: This feels... trite. Thoughts on how to improve it?)

Best of all, Riddick was just notorious enough to the social elite-- the people that Connieal-as-Riddick went after in his articles, when nothing more sensational presented itself-- that his presence tonight would add a good dash of confusion to the party. Adage himself had a hobby of insulting his peers, and he donated to the Investigator, just to irritate his business associates.

Connieal knew it would work. People will accept anything if you act like you belong.

These thoughts bounced around inside his mind as Connieal rowed up to the back of the island. Here, it was dark. A few scrubby pines screened him from view of the mansion’s veranda. He tossed the remains of the rope over the bent maple tree and knotted it quickly and cleverly-- far more quickly than Sam Loggan, supposed clerk, would have been able to do. Clerks were not supposed to know how to tie boatman’s lines.

Then, with the elegance of a gentleman stepping over a mud puddle, he set foot on dry land again.

He cleared his throat and spoke, trying out Riddick’s bright, informal voice.
“It's time for the show, lords and ladies.”

He took his time strolling around the paths of the elegant little rose garden, making sure that anyone watching would see him simply enjoying the flowers, rather than a miscreant sneaking onto the island. It was too easy. Connieal relaxed slightly. He’d have to have a word with Andrew Adage about watching his shore a touch more closely, if he managed to find the man before the evening was through. They had never met, but Connieal suspected that he would like the old chap.

Finally, he strolled up to the mansion proper. The ballroom, its vast floor polished to an orange shine, glowed from inside. All the noises were muffled by a set of glass doors. Guests inside maneuvered between groups and couples with the delicacy of fine clockwork.

He stepped towards the doors, admiring the people inside in the way that a novice painter might move inside the Oil Room of the Relle Museum of High Arts. For all his skill at mimicry and accents and lies, he could never aspire to the great skill of the upper class. These were people born into a world where one was expected to smile, to lie, to be gracious and deceptive. He had to learn these skills.

A snuffle disturbed his thoughts.

A girl sat on a spindly wrought-iron chair in a corner of the veranda. Her ankles were crossed-- her shoulders squared-- her spine as stiff as a poker-- yet for all this attention to etiquette, she still looked out of place.

He leaned on the railing, watching her, unnoticed.

Her dress really was an unfortunate shade. Merian, who knew about things like fashion and dyes, would probably call the color something silly, like ‘dusky fall rose.’ He would have called it, if pressed to comment, ‘gutted salmon.’ It made her brown hair seem darker, and gave her tanned skin an unnatural orange cast. Gloved hands lay clenched in her lap.

“Hello, miss.”
She raised her head. Her mask was fancier than his: red and gold, decorated with what seemed to be pearly pink fish scales. Golden fins swept back from each of her temples, made delicate wire and tissue paper.

He strolled over to her and bowed slightly.

“Good evening. Might I accompany you inside?”

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and hostile. Perhaps sixteen, seventeen, he thought. A touch older than his sister.

“No, thank you. I’d much rather prefer to stay here.”

“Ah. Fair enough.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared up at the sky. A few stars glimmered through the smog and high clouds.

“Er...”

“Yes, miss?” He looked back down.

“I rather thought I implied that I wanted you to go away.”

“Oh! Really? Had you? I apologize, I was simply enjoying the night air.”

She gave him a slow, cold stare.

He smiled.

“No need to become belligerent, miss,” he said with a chuckle.

“You’re bothering me,” she said flatly.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Push off.”

He laughed.

“Where’re you from, miss? I detect a hint of the Western Plains in your accent, but I’d hate to do you the slander of accusing you of being from there. What is it? Beln? Castlorn? Either way, your voice is charming.”

If looks could kill, he would have been laid out on a slab of mortuary ice at that point.

“Did you get hit on the head or something?” she demanded. Her voice, once low and formal, rose in pitch. “Do you really not know who I am?”

He shook his head.

“I believe, miss, that not knowing who people are is one of the major ideas behind the masquerade. How could I know you? Your lovely-- well, I assume that it's lovely-- face is hidden by your mask, and your voice is choked with tears.” He smiled.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not choked with tears!”

“I’m sorry. I seem to be imagining things. I do that quite a bit. You do seem a bit upset, though. Care to tell me what’s troubling you?”

“You’re a complete stranger-- and a mad stranger, I might add. Go away.”

“Ah, but now I’m curious. Why should a charming and passionate young lady like yourself be sitting outside, alone, at a party?”

The girl spoke slowly, through clenched teeth.

“I came out here... to count to ten... so I wouldn’t have to punch the Baron Ives Lawrent of Thelinan... in the face.”

Connieal managed to maintain a serious, concerned expression for all of nine seconds before he burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” the girl snarled.

“No, no. Of course it is not.” He giggled again. “But... good for you, miss. From what the gossip columns say, the Baron could use a good smack now and again.”

“You know, I could very well punch you instead, if you like. It wouldn’t be any bother.” Her gaze took him in, as though she were calculating her chances in a fight.

“Ah, don’t bother, miss. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else offers to do the same to me before the evening’s over. Just keep me in the corner of your eye as I move about the party, and please don’t feel guilty when I’m set about by outraged women armed with parasols. It will be, after all, be what you wanted, but achieved with far less effort.”

The girl snorted. There was a beat of silence.

“Out of curiosity, why did you nearly punch the Baron?” he added.

“He... made a cruel remark about my sister.” The girl tossed her head.
“Ah, family bonds. Touching. Loyalty isn’t something you see much these days, but I approve. I’ve punched people on behalf of my sister before, as well.”

The girl rose slightly, and then sank back into her seat.
“Are you just going to stand there and chatter and agree with me all night?” she asked.

“Why not? It’s pretty entertaining, and you're playing along, after all.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“I’m only being kind.”

“Go to hell.”

“I am, actually, but I happen to be taking the scenic route.”

She rose from her chair and paced inside. He caught up with her and looped his arm through hers. She tugged briefly at it, then sighed and let him lead the way.

“I give up. You’re completely mad, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Rudest man I’ve met in this whole city, so far.”

“I’m glad to know that I’m remarkable.”

"I was just making sure that you were aware. It’s not praise or anything.”

“Right you are, miss.”

She sighed again, and they walked through the doorway.

“Ausk! Where have you been?”

A girl glided up to them in a rustle of silk. Her hair teetered above her ears in a precarious pile of curls, and her cheeks flushed artificially with rouge. Neither of these touches could hide the fact that her skin was sickly-pale and that her hair was a bland, mousy brown. Her volumous turquoise gown-- a color supposedly fashionable this season for fair women-- made her body looked swollen and unbalanced. Her mask was meant to convey the impression of butterfly wings, he guessed. It did little to disguise her nervous expression.

‘Ausk’ tore her arm free from Connieal and stepped up to the other girl. Was this her sister? Apart from sharing a hair color that could be called ‘brown’-- and only if one used a loose definition of the term-- the two looked nothing alike. Ausk was short and slightly stocky, while her possible-sister was tall and thin.

The two girls linked arms. The one in teal extended her free hand to Connieal. He could feel the delicate bones of her knuckles underneath the thin leather as he shook it.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, sir, though it seems that you already know my sister.”

Connieal kissed the back of her gloved hand.
“You’re right, miss. I encountered your sister out on the veranda. I must say that she is a young lady of some sense-- the atmosphere is far nicer there than that inside.”

Both girls wrinkled their noses. He chuckled.

“Not used to Meraig, I take it, ladies.”

Ausk shrugged.

“It’s a lot to take in. Especially tonight of all nights.”

The second girl cast a sly glance up at his face. “Curious. I don’t seem to remember you going out onto the veranda, sir.”

“I was down in the rose garden for quite a while,” he said promptly. “Botany is one of my many interests.”

“Hmm. Of course.” The girl smirked at Ausk, who made a face in return.

“If I might be so bold, I don’t seem to know who you two are. Of course, you needn’t tell me if you’d like to be private-- this is a masque, after all-- but curiosity has always gotten the better of me, when such charming young ladies are involved.”

Ausk rolled her eyes, but the girl in teal tilted her head.

“My, you must have been down in the rose garden for an unnaturally long time. Didn’t you hear Mr. Adage welcome us earlier?”

“I seemed to have missed his opening remarks, and I’ve never known a masque to involve formal introductions. Isn’t the mystery part of the fun?”

“We wouldn’t know,” the pale girl said. “We are strangers to this land.”

“So I assumed.”

The girl hesitated.

“Well, it’s no secret.” She extended her hand again and shook his hand. “I am the Princess Loidea Alberta Romn, Regent of West Firdhelm.”

“And I,” said Ausk with something that might have been a curtsey, “am the Princess Morna Talia Auskerry, Acting Ruler of Eastern Firdhelm.”

Connieal solemnly shook Loidea’s hand again, and then Auskerry’s.

“It is a new pleasure for me-- I can’t say that I’ve ever met royalty before. Forgive me, but geography and foreign politics aren’t my strong suits. I tend to keep my focus inside the city. Where might Firdhelm be? I told Miss Morna that she sounds like a girl out of Mauran, but they haven’t been too fond of monarchy for a while, and I doubt that you two lovely ladies would be quite so lovely if the Righteous Few or God’s Artisans got ahold of you.”

Loidea frowned, trying to digest his speech, but Auskerry-- the Princess Morna-- smiled.

“Our lands lie far to the south, beyond Garda and far west of Contra. Some might call it a poor realm, but it is dear to our hearts.”

Her words were hurried and flat. Perhaps he imagined it-- or perhaps it really did rehearsed. He nodded.

“Of course. Any homeland is always cherished, whether it be far away in the southern wilds or right here in dear Meraig city. Might I ask what brings you two so far north?”

Loidea hesitated for a moment. Auskerry gave her a blank look that Connieal couldn’t read.

“It is a custom among our nobles,” Loidea said slowly, “to send away all people of gentle rank that they might see the world before returning home and settling down to a position of power.”

He smile brightly, to show that he understood and that he did not believe a bloody word of it.

“It’s much the custom up here, as well,” he said. “My best friend, for example, was a young lady of some standing in Near Tsor, as I understand it.”

Loidea wrinkled her brow. “What is that land like? I’ve often heard interesting tales from it, but I’m afraid that I may have misunderstood some of them. They were very puzzling stories, on a whole.”

“Yes," Auskerry began. "I thought that in Tsor lots of girls ended up having to sell their vir--”

“I think it’s suffice to say that her visit to Meraig has been a very long one, and she rarely mentions plans to go home,” Connieal said quickly. “I regret that she couldn’t be here tonight to answer your questions herself.”

As soon as he said the words, he realized that he honestly did regret Tonks' absence. The girl often vanished for weeks on end, and refused to tell him where she went. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been genuinely lonely.

He winced, suddenly realizing how careless he was getting. Basil Riddick did not know Tonks. He had never met anyone from the East in his life.

He was getting sloppy.

Auskerry shuffled one delicate slippered foot along the polished wood floor.

“I’m sorry, my curiosity tends to run away with me at times.”

“And tact cannot keep pace with neither it nor you,” Loidea added. Auskerry made a face at her ‘sister’, one that (Connieal guessed) would almost certainly would have included sticking her tongue out, were they not in such polite society.

A string quartet trooped onto their low stage across the ballroom. They bowed to the polite patter of applause that their appearance provoked. The violinist, a pudgy young man with an impressive mane of curly black hair, placed his instrument underneath his chin and drew his bow across the strings. The other musicians made a variety of last-minute adjustments, and, with a nod from their leader, the plinkings finally resolved into music.

Auskerry gasped. Connieal raised an eyebrow.

“That eager to dance, Miss Auskerry-- excuse me-- Princess Morna?”

She shook her head and leaned in towards Loidea.

“Dea, look,” she whispered. “Sir Faraday. Over there.”

Loidea’s eyes went wide behind her mask, and she clutched Auskerry’s hand. Had the girls not been wearing gloves, Connieal was sure he would have been able to see their white knuckles. The girls both stared across the room, transfixed.

“Oh, Faraday? The explorer?” he said. “I don’t think there’s any hope in pursuing him, Princesses. All the papers say Miss Jeanette Adage snared him ages ago.”

“The interest is professional!” Auskerry snapped.

“Ah. A fraternity of gentry, is it?”

Loidea glared at Connieal, and he took an involuntary step backwards. Auskerry’s glare was but a weak ray of sunshine to the full, flaming force of Loidea’s stare.

“I fear that we must leave you,” she said crisply. “We promised each other weeks ago that should the opportunity arise, we should meet Sir Faraday. Come, Ausk, let’s see if Mr. Adage will introduce us.”

The girls rustled off down the side of the ballroom’s wall. A few of the braver, better-dressed couples had moved onto the floor and were dancing with mechanical precision. Connieal wondered if they had all learned the dance steps from the same teacher. In Meraig’s inbred Society, it was not entirely impossible.

“Of course,” he said to no one, very quietly. “I myself have people to meet and introduce myself to.” He raised his shoulders and looked at the onlookers. “Now, remember,” he added to himself in little more than a whisper. “The purpose of the evening is mischief and entertainment. I must not get distracted by trifling matters.”

Aaargh. I'm so sorry that I haven't been around this guild in forever. I've neglected my writing pretty badly, of late.

Since posting this first chapter this way is incredibly slow, I thought that I'd quicken things a bit by hosting it as a RTF on awebsite. If anyone's looking for a read of about twenty pages and has the patience to sift through a rough draft, it's hosted here. Promise that it's a safe and virus-free file.

Thanks! I hope to be around here a lot more, now that school has finally calmed down.

(nitpick) The “and couples” sounds a bit odd here. Maybe you don’t need it since “group” would imply 2 or more =)

“admiring” and “move inside” sorta don’t go together. Maybe replace the latter with… something…

(another nitpicky thing) move “really” after “a” OR you can italicize “was’ for emphasis. And who’s Merian (did you introduce her or him and I missed it?)

a word’s missing here I think between “did” and “rehearsed”





So, I really like your writing style. The beginning of the 2nd section was great and gave me a really clear picture of Connieal. The dialogue was good too and If you feel that it’s “clunky” you could add more “he saids/she saids” after it with manner of speaking. Like “he said in a deep voice” or whatever. Oh and if person A, B and C are having a conversation and persion A and B are exchanging linesm, you should mark when person C chimes in. That was sometimes confusing, but not even that much so. Otherwise, I think it sounds fine. Oh and that line w/ “play house” sounded fine also. You could change it to “theatre” but I think I like play-house better. Or acting troupe? Or would that be too different?

Anyway, if you want to post the next section here, please do and I’ll totally read it!!! TTFN. (I also like the name Basil)